Below the Horizon
by Lawson227
Summary: A stand alone tag to Ep 3.2 "Sara." Just a little something that popped into my head and wouldn't let go.


**Below the Horizon**

**Disclaimer: **Own nothing except the ideas in my wee brain, cracked though they may be. This is a one-shot that occurred to me in the wake of "Sara." Spoilers apply.

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><p>They'd left the windows cracked, allowing the sounds of the occasional passing car or light breeze to trickle into the room—signs of life. The curtains themselves they'd left drawn, providing a screen out onto the ever-changing landscape of their worlds. First the dark through which they stealthily moved, attempting to restore order to a world that seemed to want nothing more than to fight them at every turn. After a while, however faint slivers of gray-blue began to bleed through the murky ink-dark, infusing the room with a soft, deceptive glow. Eventually the glow would give way to full light and they would have to go out into the world At least for a little while. Pretend to be like the others. To grab at a tiny slice of normalcy that could give lie—if only temporary—to the fact that their lives were more fully lived at night when the monsters roamed and the darkness threatened to swallow…everything.<p>

But for now, they could lie together, wrapped into the soft gray of emerging dawn and pretend something else altogether.

She should have been surprised to find him waiting just outside her door when she returned from her impromptu meeting with Ray Palmer. Yet… she wasn't.

She should have told him to go away. That she wanted to be alone. Yet… she hadn't. And she didn't. Truth was, she'd known as they parted at the cemetery's gates that she'd see him again before the night was out.

Truth was… she'd counted on that.

She'd let him in and left him to his own devices while she changed from her sensible—for her—dress into a battered MIT t-shirt and flannel pants printed with whimsical flying pigs that appealed to her sense of the absurd and his too, evidenced by the faint yet honest grin that momentarily erased the lines of exhaustion and grief aging him far beyond his years.

In silent accord, they'd settled in her bed and watched as for once, night moved on without them.

"Nothing's ever going to be the same, is it?" His voice was quiet, as if in deference to the spell in which they'd wrapped themselves.

She tilted her head back from where it rested on his shoulder. Despite the measure of peace they'd carved out for themselves during these stolen hours, she could nevertheless detect tension in the strong, angular line of his jaw. As such, she chose her words carefully, yet with the directness he'd expect from her. "Doing what we do, change is really the only thing we can count on."

His chest rose and fell beneath her hand—silent agreement and barely-restrained frustration expelled in a single breath.

Afterward, he fell so quiet, she might have thought he'd drifted off, finally done in by the stress and trauma of the last few days… weeks… years, except the steady, gentle motion of his hand along her arm never ceased. So she wasn't surprised when he spoke . She was, however, surprised by his words.

"Do you ever wonder if it should have been us?"

"Us?"

"Yeah."

By now she could so accurately interpret every nuance within his voice that envisioning the expression accompanying his words came easy. The heavy brows knit together in a straight line over deep blue-gray eyes; the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose standing out in stark relief and giving him an edearing—and surprisingly—boyish expression. Generally, she enjoyed those moments—when he shed the worries normally weighing him down for something utterly inconsequential. But not this time. Not for this.

This wasn't inconsequential.

"Technically, we shouldn't have ever even known each other."

"I think at this point we're pretty far beyond _technically_, don't you?" A hint of a smile crept into his voice. "And you're evading."

"Totally."

A chuckle rumbled in his chest before it rose and fell with another deep breath. "Seriously, though—"

"Seriously—" She sighed. "I can't deny it would have been easier. Sort of."

"In so much as anything can be called easy for us."

"Exactly."

After a beat he pressed, "But honestly—haven't you ever wondered?"

"I never have before, no." She knew her honesty wouldn't hurt him. It was what their particular relationship was built on, after all.

"But now?"

"Now? I can't help but kind of wish it was the case." Felicity pushed herself to a sitting position and looked down at the man with whom she shared her bed. "Because loving a Queen is frankly, a bitch."

"Tell me about it." Roy laughed, although the sound contained very little humor. "At least you know where yours is."

She drew her legs up and rested her chin on her knees. "Physically, maybe."

"Not only that." Roy stared up at the ceiling. "At least you know he loves you."

"And part of me wishes he didn't." Felicity hugged her legs more tightly. "At least you were willing to commit yourself fully to Thea. I guess from that standpoint, I do wish it could have been you and me. Even if in your own way you've been just as bad as Oliver."

At that he sat up. "I was trying to protect her."

She released her knees and straightened, poking a finger into his chest. "And Oliver's trying to protect me—and look where that's gotten all of us."

"Yeah." He flopped back to the pillows with a gusty sigh and turned his gaze to the window. "At least we have each other though, right?"

His voice emerged so hesitant and uncertain, Felicity felt a tight knot of emotion lodge deep in her chest. It only took a split-second for her to realize exactly what it was. Not the sibling sort of love she shared with John nor was it the intense, once-in-a-lifetime sort of love she felt for Oliver, but the truth of it was undeniable—she loved Roy.

Unexpected—but not completely unwelcome. Given the insanity of their lives they needed something constant and real and… _there_. And in the end, who else could they turn to? Who else could possibly _ever _understand their lives? Their histories?

No one. That's who.

Oh sure, it was possible someone else could come careening into their lives. Gain entry to their secret world—to the night in which they lived—but they still would have no way of truly understanding everything that had brought them to this place. To this moment. They'd have no memory of Tommy and Moira—of fighting Slade and losing Sara.

Of what it was like to be in love with a stubborn, headstrong, utterly infuriating Queen.

Gently, she turned his head until his gaze met hers. "We're a helluva pair, Harper," she said quietly. At his rueful smile, she leaned forward and gently touched her lips to his—on the surface chaste and lacking heat but like with her emotions, she couldn't deny the presence of something more simmering below the surface. Steady and patient and waiting for the right moment to be released.

That moment might never come, she knew. It could be it would never be more than what they'd had this night. But there was nevertheless something comforting in feeling his arms around her, in sharing his breath—in knowing he was there for her the way she'd be there for him.

It wasn't true love, but it _was_ love, real and true.

Whatever their futures brought, they'd have that. And in the end, it was a lot more than most people got.

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>Before anyone brings out the lynch mobs, let me be clear—I am totally pro-Oliver/Felicity and Roy/Thea, however, our poor noodles are going through some… _issues_ at the moment. And after watching how Roy and Felicity interacted during "Sara" I couldn't help but see how these two have a unique understanding that goes beyond friendship. I left the majority of the story deliberately vague so the reader can freely interpret what may or may not have occurred between them. (To be honest, even _I'm_ not all that certain.)

Now, hopefully, those stubborn Queen siblings (and Thea is _so_ a Queen, no matter what) will get some sense knocked into their heads sooner, rather than later.


End file.
